


Bullseye

by marcaskane (noblydonedonnanoble)



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-22
Updated: 2017-05-22
Packaged: 2018-11-03 12:02:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,093
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10966815
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/noblydonedonnanoble/pseuds/marcaskane
Summary: Abby's a med student working in retail part-time. She sees plenty of interesting characters during her shifts, but one in particular has caught her eye.





	Bullseye

            He’s back again.

            Abby’s lost track of the number of times that she’s seen this guy around in the months since she started working at Target. He’s one of a fair number of regulars whom she’s used to seeing at least once a week, and he’s certainly not the only one who’s got some weird shopping quirks.

            In fact, she’s not afraid to acknowledge that at first, he mostly held her attention because he is… quite cute. Not her usual type, maybe—she’s always been one for lighter hair, for a bit slenderer build, but him…

            He is…

            Is he taking a selfie with the Sprite that he just pulled off the shelf?

            That’s the thing. Initially, she just noticed that he is cute. More recently, however, she has become aware that he seems to drink more soda in a week than the average person drinks in a month or more.

            And it’s always fucking Sprite.

            Abby busies herself with the bottles of Coke at the end of the soda aisle, trying not to make it obvious that she’s scrutinizing this guy as he loads four boxes of Sprite cans into his cart.

            “Feeding an army?” The question slips out before she knows what she’s saying, her tone more teasing than she would ever actually want to sound with an absolute stranger.

            Her question makes him jolt and drop the last box into the cart prematurely; it lands with a clatter, and the guy cringes, opening his mouth to speak as he turns to look at Abby. But then he catches sight of her, and, for a few moments, he can’t seem to say anything. Finally: “What?”

            She nearly starts giggling. “Normally when people get so much soda, they’re throwing a party, but I’ve seen you get that many a few times. So I’m figuring either you throw lots of parties or you’ve got a mob at home to feed.”

            It doesn’t occur to Abby until after she’s spoken that she’s just admitted to watching him when he comes into the store, but if he noticed, it’s masked by how flustered he is by her question. “Oh, I… none of the above, actually. I kind of just really like Sprite.”

            Years in retail, of being told “the customer is always right,” escape her notice as she squints at him and blurts, “Why?”

            He blinks at her. “ _Why_?”

            The absurdity of the question sets in, and Abby doesn’t feel like she can take it _back_ , but she doesn’t know how to answer in a way that doesn’t sound rude, so she just shrugs and nods.

            “Because it’s… good?”

            “Hence the selfie,” she offers.

            “Oh. Um. Yes.” His skin tints pink from his ears down to his neck, though his blush doesn’t quite spread to his face. Abby thinks, vaguely, that he looks even cuter when flustered. “I didn’t think anyone was around to see that.”

            Abby chuckles. “Well, the Target overlords want us to have eyes on the customers at all times in case of potential strife… Helping people to find items, get things off the tall shelves, y’know.”

            For the first time since Abby initiated this conversation, he smiles. He looks her up and down, taking in her small frame. “You’re going to help me to get things off the tall shelves.”

            “Yes.” She glances at his cart, and she keeps her expression neutral as she says, “You need someone to grab everything else for you while you’re lugging around twenty boxes of Sprite.”

             He doesn’t say anything for some moments. Then, finally: “I’m Marcus.”

            She points to her name tag. “Abby.”

            “Do you make a habit of calling out customers on their purchases? Or just the ones who you check out for a few months first?”

            Oh. So he did catch her comment about watching him. Now it’s her turn to blush. “Presumptuous of you to say I was checking you out, isn’t it? All I said was that I’d noticed you buying lots of Sprite.”

            The corner of Marcus’s mouth quirks up. “Okay.” He points toward his cart. “Well I’m behind on drinking my standard five cans a day, so I’m going to…”

            “Right,” Abby murmurs.

            He gives her a halfhearted salute as he moves to turn down the aisle, but he only makes it a few feet before she says, “Six o’clock.”

            Again, Marcus jolts before he turns to look at her. Again, he asks, “What?”

            “Six o’clock. That’s, um, that’s when I clock out. If you wanted to get a bite to eat or something. I don’t know.”

            “That would be—” His face falls in an instant. “I can’t.”

            Well. For her first time hitting on a customer, this could have gone better. She shoves her hands in her pockets. “Right, sure.”

            “No, no, don’t think… it’s not…” Marcus steps away from his cart again, moving down the aisle and coming to a halt a few feet away from Abby. He lowers his voice, as though concerned that nonexistent passersby are eavesdropping. “My niece’s first orchestra concert is tonight, and I promised her I’d be there. But I… This isn’t a no. You have no idea how many times I’ve nearly given you my number.”

            Abby’s eyes widen slightly. “Oh?”

            He furrows his brow. “But I didn’t want… That’s not a good position to put someone in when they’re working a job like this. You deserved the opportunity to tell me to fuck off if you wanted to.”

            With those two sentences, he becomes even more attractive.

            She reaches up and grabs the pen that she always keeps in her ponytail during work hours. Giving him a grin, she holds out a hand. “You can have mine, then. For being patient.”

            Both of them are silent as Abby writes her phone number on the back of Marcus’s hand. She is slow and precise, ensuring that there is no confusion about what the digits are. With her free hand, she’s holding his arm steady, and she does her best to ignore the goosebumps that she feels across his skin.

            (She does a very poor job.)

            “Have fun with your niece,” she murmurs.

            Marcus nods emphatically. “I’ll text you. Soon.”

            Again, he only makes it a few feet before she speaks. “I bet you’re just hoping to use my employee discount when you come in to get Sprite.”

            This time, he doesn’t stop—he just slows down as he turns to grin at her one more time. “I’d be lying if I said that the thought had not crossed my mind.”


End file.
